Emily C Skaftun - [BCS299 S04]
Page 4
And I almost strangle her. But she talks me down by continuing on, showing me that it’s a similar type of control. In another day I think I’ve located my “home center” and know how to program in the coordinates for Trango.
Ennesta and the other grown spheres have synthesized a chemical compound to help adapt my Roptralian physiology to the process, and now she hands me the syringe, big eyes wet with something like tears. “You are as ready as you can be,” she says.
I guess that will have to be good enough. I take the syringe. It’s so light! Another small thing that will change everything. “You don’t have to watch,” I tell her.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers in reply.
Then she shakes her head, nuzzles me, reassures me. “I don’t mean that. I know you have to go and I won’t ask you not to just for little me. But... I don’t want you to leave.”
Someone’s always leaving, I think, chiding myself for staying bitter to the bitter end. At least this time it’s me doing the leaving.
I kiss Ennesta, then inject myself.
The wave of vertigo is somehow still a shock. I swoon into Ennesta’s many arms, and she catches me like she was made to do it. I want to tell her that, that and other things. There are words I’m finally ready to say. I open my mouth, but speech is already beyond me, and only a croak leaves my beak.
My brain tastes like paprika spilled on a long-forgotten tidepool. I focus on that, on water, on tides, on Trango.
I remember to breathe, and, even though it’s not part of the process, I start to purr. I focus on the mantra of numbers running through my mind as they merge, programming my soul, Gravity willing.
Vision fades, sounds grow echoey and strange, and my purr degenerates into spasms, but I can still feel the soft fur of my lover’s arms and the silky tears as they splash onto my face like ocean water. Home, I think. This is home.
I want to tell her, but it’s too late.
Maybe in my next life.
© Copyright 2020 Emily C. Skaftun